Orphans of War
by Ryuu Indigo
Summary: Retired turian Spectre Valrus Akaron was just doing a bit of volunteer work, helping c-sec in the rapidly overfilling refugee camp, when he happened to see a young human girl fresh off the transports being harassed by a known con. Clara Reed is like so many others, separated from her family, alone and frightened, but for some reason Valrus can't leave her alone.
1. Chapter 1

**_Orphans of War_**

**_Chapter 1_**

It was almost four o'clock in the afternoon.

The latest band of refugees had just arrived in the emergency housing floor, most of them were human. Another colony world evacuated as the Reapers closed in. Young, old, men, women, they filed in, walking up to the desks to register their arrival, as well as try and receive aid.

Among them, lost in the hustle and bustle, standing there with nothing but a weathered looking old pack clutched tightly against her chest, was a young girl. She had dull honey-gold hair, milk pale skin, dotted with light freckles, and warm brown eyes that looked around, lost and frantic, unsure about what to do.

Valrus saw her. He saw her coming in with the new wave of humans. He'd come to help out the C-Sec forces, even though it was a bit trivial compared to his normal duties. They needed the extra man power, and boots on the floor helped anywhere there was a need.

He had been looking over his data fed, keeping up with the rest of the incoming data about the war. Palaven, Earth, countless colony planets. Video streams, news reports, despite the constant feeds coming in from every which corner, it was almost impossible to list an accurate casualty toll, what's worse is that one hour a large city or colony will be checking in, sending in their information, requesting aid, and the next, they would be completely silent. No checking in, no feeds, no noise. Silence.

Still, Valrus saw this one refugee, just standing there. She looked small and helpless, like she was trying desperately to shrink down to a miniscule size. For a moment, he swore she might be close to tears. He tried to ignore her, scanning through the data feeds, figuring she would eventually move on, find her family or whatever.

However, as he started reading about a recent raid by Cerberus on Benning, a conversation caught his attention.

"Hey there, sweetie," a male voice spoke up, "You lost?"

"U-Umm…no, I'm waiting for someone," answered a quieter voice.

"Who? Your folks?"

"Well, I—"

"Come on, I'll help you look for 'em. They're around here somewhere, right?"

Valrus looked up at this point, and saw a human male reaching to slip his arm casually around the girl's back. He was considerably older than her, maybe late 30s, and the girl looked at him with a mix of uncertainty and a bit of distaste.

"I really should just wait here for—"

"Aw, come on now," the man leered at her, his other hand reaching to grab one of her wrists that clutched at her bag, "In times like this, humanity's got to stick together, right? Just take this as some good will between our species, huh?"

"Really, I—"

"Hey," Valrus closed his data feed and approached the pair, the male immediately turning his once softer expression towards him with a more menacing stare. Valrus was unfazed by the balding man's glare, which faded quickly as he approached. "I thought I told you to get lost, Wilkson."

Jerry Wilkson swallowed a lump in his throat, a beat of sweat growing on his brow. He released the girl, but didn't retreat, composing himself instantly to stare down Valrus. "I have every right to be here, bird face! I'm providing support for my people in their time of need! Right, sweet thing?" he flashed a toothy smile at the young girl, who simply looked between the two.

Her gaze hung on Valrus, almost pleading. Valrus watched her for a moment, understanding the look, and then crossed his arms. "I've given you plenty of warnings, Wilkson, and you've gotten even more from the regular c-sec officers. By law, I could have you sent to a holding cell, maybe even arrested, for still trying to keep this scam of yours running."

Wilkson gritted his teeth together, "Listen here, you over grown featherless chicken!" he sneered, "You don't have any rights to do anything to me. No one's got any proof I'm doing anything illegal!"

"I don't need proof," Valrus stared down at him, his gold amber eyes intense, almost inflamed, "All I need is an excuse, and my dwindling patients is enough for me. Either get the hell out of my face and stay that way, or I'll have you locked away for the rest of her miserable life in a hole so deep even your cockroach ass couldn't crawl out."

Wilkson's face burned bright red, something that slightly amused Valrus. The range of color human skin could reach just by emotion was almost entertaining. "I'm gonna report you to human resources! This is racism!"

Valrus threw back his head and laughed, loud and rolling, sinister almost, "Go ahead, give my best to Councilor Udina even. If your little complaint even gets farther than the front desk," he leaned forward, unintimidated by him, "Seeing as human resources won't do a damn thing about a rat-assed bastard like you trying to report a Veteran Council Spectre for giving you a hard time."

Wilkson's color changed again, this time the flushed red melted away, and his skin turned stark white. He swallowed, repeatedly, and after looking between the girl and Valrus, as if weighing his odds, he turned and hurried away. Not quite running, but not walking, but clearly a hasty retreat.

Valrus scoffed, putting his hands on his waist as he watched the swindler go. Part of him wished he didn't just make a threat, but went through with the arrest. He'd simply move on to the next defenseless refugees and give the same pitch before robbing them blind.

"U-Um, excuse me?"

A shy voice reminded Valrus he wasn't alone, and he glanced back at the young human. She smiled up at him, strands of her hair hanging in her face. "Thank you for helping me, sir. I really appreciate it."

Valrus turned to her, "Where's your family, kid?" he asked bluntly.

She looked surprised for a minute, as if she didn't expect him to ask such a question. He waited for her answer, clearly not giving her the option to make excuses.

She turned her attention to the gates where most of the refugees had been coming after the drop offs, and looked a little saddened. "…they said they were going to take the shuttle after me…" she muttered quietly. "The lady at the front desk said that it would be arriving in the next few hours…"

Valrus was quiet for a moment, contemplating. When had he first noticed her arrival? Two, three hours ago?

"How long ago was that?" he questioned.

"…" she tightened her grip on her bag, "Three hours and thirty six minutes ago."

Valrus remembered his data feed. He had been monitoring incoming shuttle reports. In the past three hours, only two shuttles had arrived. One was from a batarian colony, the other from Earth.

"Where are they coming from?" he asked.

"Promise," she answered, adjusting some of her hair that was falling into her eyes. She looked around again, as if hoping speaking the name might've alerted someone who might know where her family was.

Valrus remembered Promise. It was a small moon that orbited a large, ringed planet called Kamaji, along with two other moons, Muse and Historia. Promise was a fairly new colony, only having been established twenty or so years ago by humans in the Lorelei Cluster in outer Citadel space. All he could remember was that it was mostly farming and mining, and it had a relatively low population.

As he looked at her, he could easily imagine her having been born on that moon, never having left it before in her life, and now thrust into a world she had no idea about, alone and afraid. Thinking like that made it even easier for him to see how she was targeted by Wilkson, and how she would defiantly be targeted again.

"What's your name, kid?" he asked yet another question of her.

She looked at him, clearly unsure about whether or not she should answer that question. She didn't seem too young, but naivety was defiantly a constantly state of mind. She had been sheltered, probably grew up knowing every face and name of the people around her. She never had to do with anything outside of Promise, and grew up under the safe guard of her parents.

Kids like her often ended up tricked into bad situations.

He showed her his data pad, "I'm gonna run your name threw recent arrivals. If your parents are here, then it'll show me where I can find them."

She seemed to light up, and gave no more protests, "My name is Clara Reed, my parents are Donald and Paula Reed. I have a little brother too, Gavin."

Valrus put her name into the data base. She had registered her arrival around the time she had told him, and as it searched through the recent arrivals, he noticed her trying to push herself up on her toes to peer over it, a hopeful yet apprehensive look on her face. He shook his head at her behavior, and around the same time, the data pad alerted him to "No Matches Found".

He closed it out and looked at her. The disappointment in her expression told him she saw too. She looked down at her feet while Valrus reached up to rub at his neck. There was no way to tell when the next shuttle would arrive, and whether or not it would even come from Promise. Communications were bad and getting worse, to the point that incoming shuttles, sometimes even cruisers, would have to take a chance at approaching the docking hangers without contact, praying not to be shot down.

Clara took in a breath, and smiled at him, "Thank you again, sir. I appreciate you trying to help."

"Anytime," Valrus answered. With a wave, Clara walked away. Valrus turned to do the same, but glanced back.

Clara didn't go far, simply over to a bench nearby. She took a seat with her back to him, placing her bag beside her, and continued to glance around, still hoping to spot her family.

Valrus watched her, then turned.

There were countless people in her same situation. All of them needed help.

It wasn't his job to deal with her. He was only a temporary solution to the lack of man-power on this floor anyway.

With luck, she'd be reunited with her family before the night was out anyway.

Yes. There were a lot of people in Clara's situation. A lot of them who needed help. What made Clara's case so different, so special?

This was what Valrus kept thinking well into the night…

* * *

_**A/N:** This story was inspired by a background conversation in ME3 where a c-sec officer talks with a young teenage girl refugee. I'm sure there are similar stories out there, but it was a touching idea that I wanted to play with. _


	2. Chapter 2

**_Orphans of War_**

**_Chapter 2_**

Clara hadn't slept.

She had tried to sleep, using her bag as a pillow, stretched out across the bench chairs, but the last scene of her home kept replaying in her head.

It had been early in the morning. Not yet dawn, even. The colony's alarms where blaring, and her dad came rushing through the door to her bedroom, telling her to get up, dressed, and grab everything she'd need. They were evacuating.

It had been all over the extranet, the attack on Earth. How colonies were going dark, and many people were backing out, returning to more stabilized planets, like Illium, or the Citadel. But everyone on Promise figured they were to out of the way, too small to bother with. Almost everyone had stayed. They felt safe here.

It was all so sudden, the way that illusion crashed down. Suddenly, it was happening. What, she didn't know, but they were evacuating, now. She remembered throwing on the same clothes she had worn the day before, and tossing everything important within arm's reach into her old bag. She heard her mother in the room next to her's directing Gavin that his toys weren't important, they would get new ones later, and to just take what was absolutely necessary.

No one was near prepared when her father came rushing back in, shouting that they had to go now, and they all rushed out.

The colony was in a panic. It was hardly recognizable. It was normally so peaceful, so happy. Everyone was glad to be there, they loved it. But now, they were screaming at each other, pushing and shoving, trying to get to the shuttles first. Crowds of people all clamoring to get to the few shuttles they had that would take them to the transport ships that would go straight to the citadel.

Clara's dad had been determined to get his family on that shuttle.

He shoved, shouted, even punched a man who had been their neighbor for years when he tried to yank her mom out of his way, and made it to the shuttle. First he had got his wife and son on, then Clara. Just before he could get on, however, Gavin jumped out. He had forgotten his stuffed varren toy, and rushed back to get.

Her dad ran after him, followed by her mother, who gave her instructions to stay on the shuttle. The shuttle announced departure, and Clara shouted out. Her mother answered they would be on the next one before she ran after her husband and son.

Now, sitting alone, surrounded by other refugees, Clara secretly wished she had gone with them. She couldn't figure out why she hadn't jumped off the shuttle why she alone remained glued to the spot. No one was holding her there, no one was blocking the way out.

Clara looked down at one of the few things she had left of home.

A sketch book.

Filled with different, detailed pencil drawings, landscapes of Promise, some of the livestock raised in the colony, portraits of her friends. She had been drawing for the past few hours now. But with little inspiration, she simply drew what had been in front of her.

A bench, identical to the one she was in, only behind it was a window that looked out on the arms of the Citadel. Cars whizzed by, never slowing down to consider what was on the other side of the windows they passed. She had drawn this for hours, to the point where it almost looked like an unfished grey, black, and white photograph.

She could've drawn the couple to her left, an asari and her mate, a human, leaning on each other for support while they tried to sleep. The asari was pregnant, and her mate seemed to keep herself awake, checking on her, making sure the blanket wasn't sliding off.

Or there was the pair sitting towards the end of her bench. A batarian and a human, both of them talking about the Reapers. They had spent the night together, the human even going off and spending some of the money he had brought with him to buy something for them to eat and some drink. Not enough to get drunk, but enough to take the edge off what had happened, and what was to come.

But instead, she drew that empty bench. Because it was in front of her, and she didn't have the energy to look any other way.

She lowered her pencil, and turned the last of the blank pages to the very back. There, between the back cover and the thick stack of paper, was a rare site. A photograph. Not a halo, or some sort of digital version. A printed photograph, taken of her family in front of a decorated tree native to Promise.

Her parents told her that Christmas normally had them decorating pine trees, but those didn't grow on Promise, and having a fake tree was a bit sad. So they went out and picked a tree in the yard, and decorated it then and there. Her mom then found a relic of a camera from Earth, set it up on a tripod, and they snapped a picture of everyone under their tree.

She smiled. Tears stung in her eyes.

"Where are you…?" she whispered to the picture of the people with their smiling faces.

A shadow suddenly engulfed her. She slowly turned, and blinked away the blur in her eyes.

Standing over her was a familiar face.

The turian from yesterday. The one who helped her. He had a dark coloring, with his white tattoos made of sharp lines that bordered his eyes and mandibles. It made him look rather distinguished, she thought. She could see the faint traces of scars, but they looked faded. Old wounds, obviously, years old.

"You're still here," he said it as a statement, not a question.

She nodded, solemnly.

"No word, then?"

Her eyes slowly cast down, and she shook her head.

Silence fell for a moment. The turian walked away. She watched him as he headed towards c-sec's temporary office, a small little corner sectioned off with a few officers busily trying to sort through the refugees' complaints and requests.

Her chest felt tight. Seeing him again reminded her that it had been almost a full day since she saw, her family. 24 hours. She didn't want to even think the worst, but in the back of her mind, it was there.

She flipped the sketchbook pages back to the drawing of the bench under the window, and started to shade in a few more corners. There wasn't really a need, but it kept her mind occupied, blank, if only for a little while.

Clara knew her body needed rest. She could feel her heart rate. Slow one minute, rapid the next. All the stress and adrenaline was really over doing what little strength she had. She felt sick, and her head was pounding. But she didn't want to sleep, in case she missed their arrival.

"Hey," a hand fell on her shoulder, and she jumped, the pencil drawing a line across the paper as she let out a startled sound, quickly silenced when she flung her hands over her mouth and spun around. The turian was there again, looking a little startled himself, "…you alright, kid?"

She let out a breath, her hand falling over her chest, and nodded. She felt a little dizzy now, but otherwise she was okay.

He seemed to size her up, studying her. For a moment, his attention fell on the sketch book in her lap. He glanced at the bench across the way, and then back at her, "Any more issues?" he asked.

She opened her mouth and said in a slightly hoarse voice, "Not really."

"Not really?" he echoed.

"A guy tried to take my credit chit," she admitted. For a moment, the officer seemed a little upset, but she quickly added, "I stopped him though. It's okay."

The turian didn't seem convinced. He looked around, "It could be a while until your family shows up, kid."

"What?" she dropped the pencil, the sketch book falling from her lap as she turned around in her seat, "Why? Did you hear something?!"

"I just looked into the last reports coming in from the Lorelei Cluster," he indicated back to the c-sec office he had just visited, "From what we understand there's been some trouble in those routes. No reports of any civilian shuttles getting in the cross hairs, but that may mean they're all grounded until they can guarantee the routes are safe."

She sank back down, "Oh…"

There was a long silence between them, filled only by the sounds of the camp. Muffled voices and cars outside the windows passing the ward by.

"You should look into finding a place to stay," he instructed, "And something to eat."

"Okay…" she said quietly.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked further.

"No, not yet. I'll go find something in a minute."

"….ever been to the Commons?" he asked.

"Huh?" she looked at him, surprised.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Orphans of War_**

**_Chapter 3_**

Valrus sat across from Clara at a table in the Commons. She'd picked a small café, not well known, and ordered a pretty cheap human meal, nothing more than a sandwich with a small salad and an iced tea.

He'd ordered only a drink for himself, the turian equivalent of coffee, and watched her eat with vigor. She was obviously hungrier than she had let on when he brought her here. He'd told her to just eat where she wanted too, and when she seemed a little apprehensive, he added that it was on him.

That just had the opposite effect of what he wanted, and she seemed even more nervous. Maybe that's why she'd picked the cheapest meal she could find. Or it could be that she was just a simple colony girl who didn't need something gourmet to make her happy.

As he took a sip of his hot drink, Clara finished off the rest of her sandwich and took a gulp herself. As she picked up a fork to start on her salad, she noticed Valrus watching her. She suddenly slowed, realizing, he supposed, that she wasn't using very good manners in front of a stranger who'd bought her a meal, and looked at her salad with a slightly embarrassed expression.

He couldn't help but grin at her.

"Something wrong?" he asked, hiding his amusement.

"Uh…no," she admitted, "Thanks for the food." She smiled shyly.

He nodded, and took a gulp from his cup.

"…um…" she fidgeted a little, "I don't mean to be rude or anything…but do you really have time to just…sit with me?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well…you're a Spectre, right?" she said, "Yesterday, you told that weirdo that you were one, anyway."

"What makes you think I wasn't making it all up just to scare the shit out of him?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Because I'm pretty sure no one would lie about being one and live through it," she said.

He threw his head back and laughed. "What do you think we are, a mafia gang?"

She smiled, a little coy looking, "So you are a Spectre then?"

He paused, looking at her. A slow grin crossed his face when he realized what she had done, "Sly, kid. Good job."

She smiled back, nearly beaming, close to what he had seen yesterday. He put down his cup, crossing his arms on the table, "Alright, I'll confess. I am a Spectre. Or rather, I was."

"Was?"

"Retired. Or at least trying to be."

"I didn't know Spectres retired…"

"If you live long enough. It's not easy an easy life, y'know."

"I guess that's true. You're like the secret police. My brother use to read comic books about Spectre heroes all the time. There was even a showing of _Blasto_ in the colony last year."

He scoffed at the name of the recent movie, but let it slide. "That's all the glorified made for vids crap. The real job isn't so cut and dry," he leaned back in his seat, "Trust me kid, reality is never as pretty as the comic books and movies make it seem. It's brutal."

She was quiet for a minute, soaking it in, he figured. It might've been harsh to say, considering what she was going through. Thinking about it now, Valrus figured it might've been better if he had just kept his mouth shut.

"…if you're retired," she asked, "Why were you down in the camp yesterday? You were wearing a c-sec uniform and everything…"

"In times like these," he began, "I figure I can do more good in the field than sitting around on my ass," he shrugged, picking up his drink, "Besides, I'm horrible at golf."

Clara giggled. It was a soft kind of sound, the first time he'd seen her laugh. He paused for a moment to consider her face. Humans had such strange features. Most aliens did, of course, so different from turian. But he'd seen enough humans, worked alongside them, fought them, to know the signs of exhaustion. Wear and tear showed more on them than turians, and it was especially true of the young. Her skin wasn't the same peach color it was yesterday. It was pale, almost ghostly. Her eyes had dark rims, greying, the whites bloodshot. Even her mouth seemed dry and pale.

She hadn't slept and had probably worked her nerves up worrying all night. Thinking of her family, worried about them, and scared for herself. She was holding up, but at the same time, she was falling apart.

As Clara took a bite of her salad, he again asked her, "Do you have any kind of plan for what you're going to do until your parents arrive?"

She slowly chewed at her bite, as if thinking about it. She swallowed, "…I know I have an Aunt and Uncle on Earth," she said, "But I haven't seen them since I was little. I'm not even sure how to call them…"

Hearing they were on Earth didn't exactly give Valrus hope. "Do you know where they are?" he asked.

"I think they were in Ohio?" she frowned, "Or, they might've moved to Florida. Aunt Julie always said that she wanted to movie there. I think I remember Dad saying Uncle Ben was looking into a new house somewhere in Florida…"

"Do you know their full names?"

"Julie Anna and Benjamin Mitchell. Uncle Ben is my mom's brother."

Valrus lifted his arm, bringing up his omni-tool. He made a slight inquiry to anyone by those names, but no immediate results came up. The most likely explanation was that there wasn't anything to report about them, which mean that they weren't in the local system, nor where they on any casualty list. It could be good or bad, but with things the way they were, there wasn't any way to really tell.

He closed the program, downing the last of his drink, and Clara looked back down at her salad, now only poking it with her fork. Like before at the camp, a silence fell between them. There was simply nothing to say. She probably realized the same thing he did. Even if he had been able to find information on her Aunt and Uncle, there wasn't much that could be done about.

Evacs from Earth were becoming less and less, and it wasn't like he was going to send her to Earth either. The unspoken truth was that Earth was probably the last place in the universe that anyone should be. If her family was still there…

Valrus let out a heavy sigh mixed with a groan. The only option left was for her to stay at the camp. For a kid on her own, it wasn't exactly the best solution. He could always hand her over to c-sec. They could set her up with some kind of foster family until her parents showed up. Of course, it wasn't like she was an infant or a particularly young child. If he was to guess, she would be at least sixteen. And people on the citadel had enough trouble, it wasn't like there was a slew of people lining up to take in every orphan of war right now.

_Orphan of war…_

Valrus snuck a look at her again. She had put down her fork, and was no looking at her surroundings, taking in the view of the Presidium. Even worn out as she was, she seemed captivated by it all. Her eyes sparkled with awe as she took in sight. Here, it was hard to imagine such things as war. Hard to think of the horrors happening across the galaxy. This place seemed untouchable, like an invisible wall was keeping it separated from the carnage.

Valrus knew better. He'd seen it. It was only a matter of time until something shattered this illusion of safety.

"Oh!" Clara suddenly jumped up and hurried away. Valrus jerked to attention, battle instinct alerting at first. But as he watched her, he realized what she was doing, and relaxed.

She rushed down a flight of stairs, heading straight for a glass railing that looked out over the reservoir. Valrus stood up, picking up her forgotten bag, and following her.

She was leaning out over the rail, reaching her arm out, "Come on," she said gently, "Come here, little guy. I won't hurt you."

"What are you doing?" he asked, frowning. At first, he thought she was trying to pick one of the bright red flowers. These entire wing had been decorated with Earth agriculture. Trees and plants he wasn't use to, that gave off different perfumes. They'd even released a few native birds, something called a pigeon seemed to particularly thrive here.

Clara ignored him, reaching her hand into the leaves of a tree that had been planted below them. When she pulled her hand back out, on the tips of her fingers was a small, blue and black butterfly.

Valrus frowned, "Insects aren't normally brought to the Presidium."

"Butterflies are good for gardens and flowers," she told him, "They help flowers grow by carrying pollen from flower to flower. Also, they're pretty. Adds to the appeal."

The butterfly spread it wings, open and closed, as if displaying itself. It had a swallow like tail, long and winding. After a few more breaths on Clara's hand, it flew off, disappearing to the lower levels.

"Back on Promise, there were butterflies," she explained, "They were brought along with bees and lady bugs. They helped to make healthy crops. Butterflies and bees pollenate, and bees also made honey. And the lady bugs would eat the native pests that would attack the crops, like these little aphid like creatures we called corn-flies."

She chuckled, "Me and my friends would go out and find beehives sometimes. The wild ones that got away. They made their own hives, and we'd smoke them to get the honey. One time we got chased into the lake. My friend Nick got stung so bad his face was swollen for three days!"

Valrus didn't say anything, simply watched her. She didn't say anything more, her expression a mixture of amusement, and loneliness. As she stared out over the Presidium, he saw her eyes begin to water, but the smile didn't fade from her expression.

He began to consider something stupid.

Something someone like him shouldn't ever consider.

It was so hair brained that it if it was someone else, he'd probably tell them what a horrible, stupid, hair-brained idea it was.

But the more he tried to convince himself how _stupid_ it was, the more he knew it was the only option he had.

"Come with me," he told her, putting a hand on her shoulder, and nearly dragging her towards the transit station. He walked at brisk pace, making Clara nearly jog to keep up.

If he walked slowly, he would've probably had time to back out of it. So he kept her walking quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Orphans of War_**

**_Chapter 4_**

Clara stepped into the apartment, and froze. Behind her, the door slid shut, and Valrus stepped around her, entering the main area.

The apartment was on the upper floors of the Presidium, and was bigger than any house she's ever seen. There stairs to the second floor had a glass wall attached, with a waterfall fixture built in. It fell into a small, tan-cobble stone pond, which when Clara got the guts to walk over, had a few exotic looking fish swimming about in it.

Plants and decorative art were set up around the room, on the walls, an L shaped couch around a glass top table littered with folders and files. How rare, paper work?

The floors were mostly hard wood, and the kitchen was fully equipped. Even the fridge was humongous!

She was still in awe of her surroundings when the turian returned.

"I don't have anything humans can eat," he admitted, "But you can go get what you'll need later. There's at least three spare rooms you can pick from upstairs. Can't miss the bathroom. My room is the only shut door. It's off limits."

Clara's jaw opened and closed, like gaping fish. But he just went on.

"Other than that, there's a study, a lounge, and an entertainment room. If I'm here, I'm normally in the study. If a doors shut, knock. I'm probably doing business and I don't want to be interrupted. Anything urgent comes up, don't hesitate. Clear?"

Clara quickly nodded, his tone leaving no room for anything more than an agreement.

"Oh, the fish," he looked towards the fountain, "There's a VI that feeds them and cleans the fountain, so they're fine. Every two weeks it'll need a refill on food, but that's delivered to the door. Actually, most everything I buy will probably be delivered."

Clara could tell he didn't explain this too many people, which made her feel even worse bout this situation.

Before she had even realized what was happening, he had taken her to a taxi, and brought her to what was obviously an expensive block of exclusive apartments. He took her right to his front door, before she was even able to ask where they were. And her answer had been "my home".

Now she was standing in his kitchen, looking at the black marble counter tops with dark wood cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and a deco-art looking table that sat at least eight!

"Um…sir?" she said as he open his fridge, the inside looking rather bare.

"Hm?" he looked back over his shoulder at her.

"I don't think I should stay here," she said.

He frowned, closing the fridge and turning to face her, crossing his arms, "Why not?"

"W-Well…I appreciate the help, but, we only just met yesterday, and I don't even know your name…"

"Valrus," he said curtly.

"Huh?" Clara thought that maybe he was using some turian word.

"My name," he answered, "Its Valrus Akaron. Pleasure."

"Uh…okay, Mister Akaron," she ruffled her hair, "It's just…I'm not sure if it's a good idea. Won't you get in trouble? Having a refugee living with you?"

"Who I let into my home is no one's business but mine," Valrus waved a hand, brushing off her worries, "Worse thing that will happen would be you steal everything and run off. That'll be my fault." He paused to look at her, "I wouldn't recommend that, by the way."

Clara felt her face heat up, "I wouldn't!" she snapped.

"No problem then," he turned and headed for the stairs.

"W-Wait a second!" Clara hurried after him, mounting the stairs two at a time until they made it to the second landing, "I appreciate what you're doing, but we're practically strangers! I only met you yesterday, how can I possible allow you to take me into your home like this?"

"Would you rather spend the night on those benches again?" he asked as he went down one of the short halls, "If you want to go, be my guest. But my volunteer work with c-sec ends tomorrow afternoon. I can't promise someone will be able to babysit you, or that Wilkson won't come back. He's a habit of robbing refugees blind and then forcing them into indentured servitude on some backwater colony planet."

Valrus turned into one of the open rooms, and without thinking, Clara followed him in. She froze in the doorway.

The wall on the far side was a window, made to look like a hexagon, but it was floor to ceiling, flanked by indigo colored, gossamer curtains. There was a queen sized bed with sandy cream bed clothes, a desk, dresser, walk in closet, a bookcase. Art on the walls displayed different scenery, cityscapes and mountain springs. The room looked like something from a high end, five star hotel.

"This one's closest to the bathroom. Its right across the hall," he said, "View's not bad either. You get a direct line and the other wards. Lights up decently at night. Curtains block most of it out, but there are some tinting options on that panel." He indicated to the panel by the bed, on the other side of one of the nightstands.

Clara stepped inside, and looked around some more. She felt very out of place, like she shouldn't touch anything, but at the same time, her heart race tripled, and her lips curled up into a smile.

"So, I take it your sold?" he asked.

Clara turned back to him as she stood at the foot of the bed. She lifted her arms, "Why me?" she asked in a hush voice.

Valrus was quiet. He looked away from her, leaning on the door frame. He seemed to be deep in thought, as if searching for an answer. Clara didn't speak up or do anything to interrupt his thought process. She needed some kind of answer.

Valrus finally shook his head, "Dunno," he scoffed at himself, "Maybe I'm finally going soft." He pushed himself off the door frame, and then pulled up his omni-tool. "What's your ID number?" he asked.

"Huh?" she blinked.

"For your omni-tool. Figured we'd exchange them for emergencies."

She looked down, "…I don't have one."

"An ID number?"

"…an omni-tool."

Clara looked down at her feet, feeling a bit uneasy. Back on Promise, she'd used her mother's older model omni-tool. But it had broken a few weeks ago. Her dad had promised to order a new one, but he'd never gotten around to it. And she didn't have enough credits to afford a new one right now.

"…alright then," Valrus said, and pulled up a new window on his omni tool. A pleasant computer voice gave a generic "welcome", and a few clicks later, he closed it again, "There. You should have it by tomorrow afternoon.

"W-Wait…what?" her jaw felt like it might just permanently dis-hinge at this rate.

"You can use the vid phone downstairs to order something for dinner," he said, and reached into a pocket on his waist, "Use this."

"_Wait a second_!" she threw her arms up, stopping Valrus in his tracks. "Okay…" she took a deep breath to calm herself, "I…I guess I can stay…for a little while," she admitted, "But, I'm definitely _not_ comfortable with taking your money!"

"I already bought you lunch," he pointed out.

"That was different," she muttered.

"Not much."

"Just…_look_!" she scowled, "I'm not going to take your money! I can't!"

Valrus' stared at her, his eyes narrowing. He then stepped over to her, towering above her. "Do you have a job?" he asked.

"…no," she answered.

"How much credits do you have?"

"…about 550."

"That might buy you enough for a few weeks," he told her, "Food prices, especially the kind you can eat, are sky rocketing. If you didn't notice, the Citadel is filling up. Rations are getting low, fast, and shipping routes are getting dangerous."

"Then I'll get a job," she answered.

"Good luck with that," Valrus half laughed, "A refugee from a colony, fresh off the shuttles, so naïve she almost got herself kidnapped by a scam artist."

"_I could get a job if I wanted to_!"

Valrus seemed surprised, and amused, by her outburst. In fact, Clara was surprised herself. Valrus was taking her into his home, offering to take care of her, and she was just getting more and angrier at him.

"Be my guest then," he said, "Just try not to get yourself into any more trouble. I don't and won't have the time to bail you out every time you fall for cheap cons."

Clara pressed her lips together, feeling the rage and frustration boiling up in her stomach. But before she could do anything, there was a slight beep that alerted Valrus to an incoming message on his omni-tool. He looked at the tag, and then back at her.

"Duty calls," he said, "Make yourself at home. If you need anything, use the vid-com down stairs. I'll leave the credit chit on the table if you change your mind." He said all of these as he was walking away, leaving her standing alone in the bedroom.

She heard him leave through the front door, and slumped down onto the corner of the bed. Looking around the room, she could feel her chest tightening. Everything here seemed so luxurious compared to her little house back on the colony. She had dreamed of living in a place like this, but now that she was here…

Opening her bag, she found her sketch book and again took out the picture of her family. Promise had been home for as long as she could remember. Talking up schemes with her friends of how they would get rich and someday live in a big mansion with all the most expensive comforts had been a favorite pass time. Only now, she missed the homey feel, of having someone right outside her door, or having only one bathroom to share with her entire family.

"What do I do?" she asked the smiling faces in the picture.

_'Make the most of what you have_,' her father's voice entered her mind. It was what he always said. Be grateful for what you've got, and make the most of what you have. Taking in a deep breath, she straightened her back, and decided that was what she would have to do.

At least until they came back for her.

* * *

"Ah, there you are Akaron," Commander Bailey looked up from his data-pad as Valrus entered his office, "Was wondering how long it would take you to get here."

"Had another stop to make," Valrus answered as the door slid shut behind him. Despite how many had been reluctant to accept humans into c-sec, Valrus had seen it as a step up. He had been a part of the Relay 314 incident, but had never really harbored any ill-will towards humanity like many others of his species had. In fact, the short-lived war had given him a respect for the humans.

And Commander Bailey was a respectable sort, a good officer, and looked after his people. As far as Valrus was concerned, c-sec could do worse.

"I got word that Wilkson is still stirring up trouble in the refugee camp?" Bailey threw his data pad aside as he stood behind his desk, looking up at Valrus, "Have you made any progress on that?"

Valrus lifted his arm an opened his omni-tool, "Wilkson is just a small fish in a larger scale organization of scam artists and slavers. They've become a bit braver since the Reaper attack and are taking advantage of the universal shockwave it's created to up their business. Far as I can tell, they've got a base somewhere in the Lower Wards, probably hiding behind a false business of some kind."

Bailey groaned loudly, "Goddamn war profiteers, I tell ya. Nothing but sick bastards as far as the eye can see."

Valrus didn't respond, continuing with his report, "I haven't been able to get a fix on exactly where it is though. I should have that within the next few days. I'll forward your boys any new information I dig up so you can prepare a sting-op. The council will want solid proof."

"I would think the word of a Spectre would be enough," Bailey pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Retired," he reminded him, "I still have my contacts and connections, and my immunity, but I don't want my name attached to this case. The last thing I need is to be roped back into the Spectres. I'm too old to be running and gunning. It's a young man's game now."

Bailey scoffed, "I hear that. Though sitting around behind a desk like this is making me itch. Rather get my own hands dirty than send others to do it for me."

"You always where a man of action," Valrus agreed, "Pushing pencils isn't exactly where you belong."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Bailey shook his head, "But I do what I can, and I won't turn down people who need me. Anything else I can do for you, Akaron?"

Valrus was going to say no, offer to buy him drinks later, but paused. "Yeah. I need you to register an address change for a human refugee for me."

"Address…?" Bailey frowned, "A refugee? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Two days back a human girl named Clara Reed arrived from the colony Promise. She'll be staying with me until her family arrives."

Bailey's eyes flew open, "You did what?!"

"I realize what I did," Valrus reassured him, "And that there could be repercussions. That's why I'm telling you now. Just summit the paperwork and I'll handle the rest."

"Dammit, Valrus," Bailey gritted his teeth, "If the press were to get a hold of this—"

"_I'll_ take care of it," he said, "I still have pull, remember? And lots of people who owe me favors. Just do your job, Bailey. In return," he gave him a sly smile, "I'll buy for next weekend's game."

Bailey frowned at the old turian, but threw up his hands, "Alright, fine. I'll do what you want. But you better get the good stuff. Stay away from the cheap beer and don't listen to what Frank says. His taste in alcohol is fried from all that smoking he does."

"Fair enough," Valrus nodded, "See you around, _Commander_."

Valrus grinned as he left Bailey's office, hearing the old officer growl at the title. As the doors shut behind him, he opened his omni-tool once again to look at the files he had on Wilkson. He scowled at them, then opened up some of the others while on his way to the elevator.

While he had told Bailey everything he knew, there was a gut feeling he had that this ring of con-artists was more than just a bunch of people trying to cash in on the chaos of war. Something just didn't sit right. As a young officer, he might've been a bit more eager to run headfirst into a situation like this, damn the unknowns.

But years of experience, tempering, and scars had taught him that the unknowns could get you killed. What's more, now he had someone who was relying on him, something that a Spectre would normally avoid when going on a hairy mission.

Valrus closed the case file, and instead opened an extra-net window, and began a search on humans. If he was going to be keeping a human teenager in his company for a while, he should probably brush up a bit more on what exactly they needed.

After all, his knowledge on their welfare couldn't just consist of decent brands of beer and weekly poker games.

* * *

"Thank you," Clara said as she accepted the pizza delivery from a rather friendly and eager salarian, who accepted the credit tip she gave him, though he seemed a bit surprised that she didn't send it via omni-tool.

She took the pizza into the kitchen and was just sitting down on the island-bar when she heard the door open, and Valrus walked in. He saw her paused, looking her over.

"Did you shower?" he asked.

She blushed, "Uh…yeah. Is that okay?"

"That's fine, but why are you wearing the same clothes?" he threw down a large bag he was carrying onto the couch and then walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to pull out a turian brand of bottled beer.

"I only have two outfits," she admitted, "…and I didn't know where your washing machine was."

"Oh," he frowned, "…I normally send my clothes to the cleaners. I'll put in an order for a one."

"Y-You don't have to," she said quickly, "I can use the bathtub and soap—"

"Okay, stop it," he frowned at her as he popped the cap from his beer, "This little humble and humility thing of yours is all well and good. Proper manners, I get it. But if I want to buy something, I'll get it. I'm not exactly hurting for cash. I could buy enough washers and driers to fill the entire Citadel and still have enough credits to live in luxury till I die."

Clara scowled at him, "I think you're making that up."

"Maybe a little," he shrugged, "But it's still my damn choice. So, I'll order the washer and drier tonight and have them install it tomorrow. Anything else you need while I'm at it?"

"No," she opened her pizza box and took out a slice, "But I did order pizza for dinner."

"Did you use the chit I left?" he asked.

"…Citadel pizza is expensive," she muttered to him.

He chuckled, "I told you." He took a gulp of his beer and then seemed to remember something, "Oh. I went and saw the c-sec commander. I had him submit a change of address file on you. That way, if your family arrives, they'll know where you are and be able to locate you."

Clara's eyes lit up for a moment at this, and she had to remind herself to swallow as she smiled at him, "Thank you! Did you hear anything about them yet?"

He shook his head, "No. I told one of the officers working the camp to send word if any Reeds come in from Promise. She put a flag by the name."

Clara seemed grateful and smiled at him, "Thank you, Mister Akaron. I really appreciate what you're doing for me."

He nodded, and then took another drink while he walked out of the kitchen. Picking up the bag off the couch, he dropped it at her feet. "I went and talked with an old friend of mine. Has a daughter a little older than you. These are some old clothes that don't fit anymore. Figured they'll do until we get you some of your own."

Curious, Clara peeked inside. Her eyes widened at the clothes that were neatly folded and placed in the bag. Expensive looking dresses and shirts, along with up to style shoes and even fresh underwear that weren't even out of the package.

"Umm…these don't look like hand-me-downs?"

Valrus shrugged, "She's an Asari. Very fashionable," he air-quoted the last word with a slight grimace. "Probably bought the stuff and never wore it. Think it will do?"

Clara nodded, and looked up at him, "You're very generous, Mister Akaron."

"I'm old, retired, and the universe is going to hell," he sighed, "It's a good time to be generous."

Without another word, Valrus turned to the living room and took a seat on the couch. He used a holo-panel built into the arm-rest to make a portion of wall slide back and a large screen appear, which turned on and showed the Citadel news-network, which was running a report on crime in the lower Wards.

Clara turned back to her slice of pizza, and only half listened. Even though the living room wasn't that far, the quiet in Valrus' apartment made if feel like there was an ocean between them.

There still was so much she didn't know about him. But as far as she could tell, he wasn't a bad guy. And if she was going to be stuck on the Citadel for a while, at least she wouldn't have to sleep on the benches again.

* * *

Jerry was uneasy.

Every few steps, he would stop and look back over his shoulder. The streets of the Lower Wards were crowded, there was loud music coming from a few of the seeder clubs and joints around, and every now and then you would swear you saw a vorcha or batarian lurking in the shadows. This part of the Wards wasn't on any tourist destination brochure. This was the part that people wanted to forget.

As he made his way, he tried to avoid eye contact with anyone. When he came to a certain alley, he glanced around once more, breathing heavy. He gulped, hesitated, and with a final glance around, ducked into a shadowed alleyway.

He made his way down until he came to a certain door, and gave it a rough and maybe a little to hurried of a knock. A holo-panel flickered to life in front of him.

"Name?" came a deep and rough, none-to-amused tone.

"Jerry Wilkson," Jerry answered quickly.

A beam of light shot out, scanned over Jerry's face, and then disappeared. The panel stayed there for a bit longer, then flickered away. There was a series of clicks, and then the door slid open. Jerry almost leapt inside.

The doors shut automatically the minute he was in, and he let out a sigh as if he was safe. He reached up to pull at the collar of his shirt when a heavy hand suddenly dropped on his balding head and he let out a high pitched shriek.

"Pipe down, you over grown pijak," grumbled a large, battered old krogan, who sneered at him with a growly tone, "Hurry up. The boss wants to see you."

The krogan lumbered past him with a harsh shove. Jerry scowled daggers after him, even though he knew that krogan could easily snap him like a weak twig.

Adjusting his clothes and smoothing his thinning hair, he followed the krogan. A rather impressive doorway awaited them, flanked by a pair of vorcha guards with varren leashed and muzzled at their sides. The krogan halted, and Jerry followed suit. There was a long pause before the door swung apart.

"Enter," came a sultry, velvet sounding voice from inside.

The krogan walked forward without missing a beat, but Jerry hesitated before he too walked inside.

The room was an impressive space. Large with pillars made of glass on either side of a large half-circle desk, schools of carnivorous fish swimming around inside, and the entire walls made of tinted window so that one could see out, but not in. Sitting in a rather large chair behind the desk, surrounded by countless screens of data feeds both on the desk in front of her and displayed in the window behind her, was a rather intimidatingly attractive asari.

She was slender and built with all the allure of a matron in her prime. Her skin was a light shade of lilac with dark shades of indigo blue around her eyes, brow, and lips in interrogate and almost sensual designs. She wore a rather revealing top and a floor-length skirt with slits on either side up to her hips, knee-high leather booths, and sat back in her chair with her fingers laced together on her abdomen.

"Jerry Wilkson, as requested," the krogan announced.

The asari said nothing, her piercing ice blue eyes locked firmly on the human who had entered her office.

Jerry bowed to her as one might a queen, "A pleasure as always, ma'am."

The asari did not speak right away. Her face seemed void of all emotions, and she just stared, unblinking, at him.

Her gaze alone would have been enough to make him sweat. But the silence in which the room had fallen, the way she did not speak to him right away, coupled with how she never once blinked, left him feeling weak in the knees and almost sick to his stomach.

"One job," she finally said in a rather hushed tone, "One simple task. That was all you had to do. All I needed was for you to bring me a human girl, and this would have all been taken care of. But," she dropped her hands to the arm of her chair, and pushed herself up, "You couldn't do it. Not only did you fail to bring me what I wanted, you have brought the attention of c-sec to our origination."

She asari began to walk around the desk, waving her hand in a rather elegant gesture, "That would have been nothing. A minor misstep. Easy to disregard. But it's not just c-sec who you have alerted, is it? No," she smiled, almost sinisterly at him, as she stood in front of the desk, and leaned back, "You had to go and gain the attentions of a Spectre."

"I-I didn't know he was a Spectre!" Jerry said loudly, trying to defend himself, "And I had the girl! I swear! But that old turian—"

The asari twisted her wrist, and Jerry was instantly silenced, choking and wheezing as he desperately grabbed at his throat.

"I don't care for excuses, Jerry dear," she said rather evenly, "If you were any other person, I wouldn't have any qualms snapping your windpipe right here and giving your scraps to the fish. But," she turned her wrist again, and Jerry gasped for air.

"You have done good work for me in the past, so…I will give you one more chance," she crossed her arms under her breasts and glared past her brow at him. "But fail me again, and I will not be so forgiving. Do you understand, Jerry dear?"

Still trying to regain his composure, Jerry could only nod as he rubbed his throat and gulped down air.

The asari sneered menacingly, "Excellent. Then you will listen closely to your next assignment."

* * *

_**A/N**: I apologize to everyone who has been following this story. It is not dead, I plan on continuing and finishing it, but real life often gets in the way of my fantasies and leaves me little time/energy to write. I have, however, been finding a stride and trying to write more to things. So please bare with me as much as you can!_


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